Authors: Mccormick Templeman
Rowan shook her head. “But my mother died in childbirth. I don’t have a sibling.”
Mama Tetri smiled. “Of course you do. If you didn’t, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“But I don’t,” Rowan repeated, her muscles tensing. I am an only child. My mother died in childbirth.”
“Yes, my child. She died just after giving birth, but not to you. You were only a little over a year old. Tell me, do you sometimes dream of your mother?”
Rowan nodded, pain gripping her heart as she thought back to her dreams of her mother and the wooden egg.
“Those aren’t dreams, child. Those are memories. You knew your mother.”
“I did?” Rowan asked, a wisp of a memory floating past her mind’s eye—her mother’s warm breath upon her face, a slant of light through a diaphanous curtain.
“You did,” Mama Tetri said. “The destiny I saw when I said sooth the second time was that together you and your sister would eventually bring the downfall of both your parents. By the time I reached your mother, when I said sooth
for her, she was already ill, and with this second pregnancy, her fortune was set. I could see clearly now that both parents were destined to die as a result of it. I had to tell your mother. It was my duty. Your mother, she didn’t believe it, and when your father talked of separating the two of you—of sending the baby to your mother’s brother as soon as she was born—your mother wouldn’t hear of it.”
“The baby lived?” Rowan asked, the words tumbling from her lips like apples from a cloth sack.
“The baby lived,” said the witch.
Rowan’s eyes grew wide, the truth suddenly upon her.
“Fiona Eira?” Rowan said, the name wounding her heart as she spoke it. “Fiona Eira is my sister?” She was stunned, and yet on some level, she’d always known. She’d always sensed her absence, and that day standing on the path, she’d been so familiar. When Fiona had died, the grief had nearly torn her apart, although she’d had no idea why.
“She begged your father not to separate you, and he promised her he wouldn’t, but still,” continued Mama Tetri, “your mother, she feared for her children. She feared that with such dark fortunes, harm was bound to come to you both. So upon her deathbed, while she stared down at Fiona Eira’s snow-white face, and while she caressed your rosered cheeks, she spoke these words:
‘You two shall have each other forever so long as you live. What one has she must share with the other.’
When your mother died, your sister’s fate was sealed. Your father sent the girl away to your mother’s brother, Pimm, and his wife, Malia, with instructions never to bring her to Nag’s End.”
“Why?” Rowan asked, shaking her head. “Why are you telling me this?”
“When I first returned to Nag’s End, it was because I saw in the waters that the sisters were to be reunited, and I feared what might come of it. I wanted to speak to you because I thought you might listen, but since then, much has changed. Outcomes are very uncertain.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Rowan saw Jude and Mama Lune standing at the edge of the room. Jude looked at her with deep concern in his eyes, and she wondered how much he’d heard.
“Do you know?” Rowan asked the witches. “Do you know that Fiona Eira walks again?”
Mama Tetri nodded. “We have discovered this, yes.”
“We know about her,” said Mama Lune, coming closer. “And we know about the beast she commands.”
“I’ve seen it,” Rowan said, shivering at the memory of it. “It’s awful—a monster of death.”
Mama Tetri nodded. “I’ve seen it as well—in the water, and we’ve heard it, moving through the trees at night.”
“Tell me,” Rowan said, a connection beginning to form in her head. “Was her rising the work of a Greywitch?”
“We think so, yes,” Mama Lune said, but she averted her eyes, and Rowan knew she wasn’t telling her everything.
“What was it you saw that day? You saw something at the funeral that frightened you—something that made you suspect that a Greywitch was among us.”
The Greenwitch sighed. “Your sister, when her body fell, I saw that she wore a coin around her neck. This coin—I
could see Grey magic trailing off it like ribbons of smoke. Death magic went into its making. Do you know what that means, child?”
Rowan’s mind flashed back to the drawing of the coin she’d found in her father’s study. She knew he was involved; he had to be, but she still didn’t see how it was possible. She shook her head, trying to focus on the witch. “Death magic? I’ve heard of it, but I can’t say that I know what it is.”
“For death magic to work, innocent people have to die. They are sacrificed—were sacrificed—in order to create the spell that made that coin,” said Mama Tetri.
“What is it, though?” Jude asked. “What is the coin?”
Mama Lune squinted her eyes, crow’s feet fanning out from their edges. “I have seen its like before. It was a long, long time ago, but it is not a thing easily forgotten. Do you know what a talisman is, child?”
Rowan nodded. “I think so. It’s a protective charm.”
“No,” the witch said, raising a finger to stop her. “It
can
be a protective charm, but in its essence, it is a placeholder. It is simply an object that can be used to hold the intentions of the witch who cast the spell into it.”
Mama Tetri cleared her throat. “In old times, when the Greywitches ruled their sisters, talismans were used almost exclusively to summon ancient spirits, wicked things that they could command to do their bidding.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” said Rowan. “So the talisman summons a spirit?”
“It is a doorway,” said Mama Tetri. “Each talisman is fashioned for the purpose of housing a specific spirit. It
is only through the metal of the talisman—and it is always fashioned of metal—that the spirit may enter this world.”
Jude ran his hand through his hair. “So this monstrous beast that stalks our woods, someone used this talisman to call it forth?”
Mama Tetri furrowed her brow. “Not just someone. A Greywitch. A most powerful Greywitch.”
“Wait,” Jude said, shaking his head. “But this beast does not live in any talisman. It is corporeal.”
“Is it, though?” Rowan wondered aloud.
“Of course it is,” he said. “You saw it yourself.”
She shook her head. “But I’ve also seen it disappear among the trees, and we’ve both felt it move past us without seeing its shape. It’s almost as if it is of this world and not of this world at the same time.”
Mama Tetri nodded. “I think you may be right. You see, even if a spirit were made corporeal—and it would take an immensely powerful Greywitch to cast such a spell—its essence, its heart, would remain in the talisman. It is like the shell of a sea creature. It may wander forth without its shell, but it is not safe or whole unless it is in its true home, the talisman. A spirit is of no use to a witch if she cannot hold sway over it.”
“But Fiona Eira has it,” Rowan said. “She has the talisman.”
“We know,” said Mama Lune.
“But,” said Jude, “Fiona couldn’t have summoned that thing.”
“No, she couldn’t have,” Mama Tetri said.
“Then how?” Rowan asked.
The witches looked at each other, and then Mama Lune spoke. “All we can say for certain is that somewhere out there, a Greywitch is missing a very important possession, and she can’t be pleased about it. I would hazard a guess that she doesn’t know who has her talisman, and therefore she doesn’t know who has her beast. She must be searching for it, and yet we have not felt her walk our woods.”
“But,” said Rowan, trying to make sense of it all, “what about Fiona … what exactly
is
she?”
Mama Lune’s eyes grew wide as she spoke. “She is a bloody one, child—the hungry dead. She needs to feed or she will die a second time, the pain of which you can scarcely imagine.”
“And the beast,” Jude said. “You say it is a kind of spirit?”
Mama Tetri pursed her lips. “It is an old thing—from long ago, when the world was a wicked place.”
“And it is the coin that connects them because Fiona wears it around her neck,” said Rowan.
“It could be more than that that connects them,” said Mama Lune.
“What do you mean?” Rowan asked.
“The Greywitch must connect them both. It has to,” the witch answered.
Rowan’s mind felt alive as all the pieces of the puzzle began to click into place. And yet, there was a creeping fear, a sense of doom looming just above her, threatening to press down and crush the air from her lungs. “Do you think this Greywitch could still be in Nag’s End?” she asked.
Mama Lune furrowed her brow. “If so, she is being very quiet. We have not sensed her.”
“So … what do we do?” Rowan asked, galvanized. “There must be something we can do? Some kind of magic?”
Mama Lune scowled and put a hand on her hip. “We are not all-powerful, child. I am a Greenwitch. I make herbs and tinctures to heal. Mama Tetri is a Bluewitch. She works the water to divine. We don’t go about fighting primordial monsters.”
“But can’t you divine how to kill it?” Rowan pleaded. “Can’t you divine what to do?”
Mama Tetri pursed her lips. “I have tried, and I cannot see. The only thing we do know is that witches like us are powerless against this kind of magic.”
“But you can’t be!” cried Rowan, fear welling up in her heart. “There must be something you can do.”
Mama Lune shook her head. “We are heading west. It is time for Mama Tetri to move on, and I shall go with her.”
Rowan was shocked to hear the words, but looking at Jude, she saw that they hit him harder.
“What?” he said, stepping away from Mama Lune. “You can’t leave now.”
“There is nothing we can do,” the Greenwitch said. “Mama Tetri has delivered her message, but we cannot stay and fight. Witches are a dying clan. We need to protect our ways. We must move on.”
Jude stood stunned, his face crimson with anger.
“You’re not going to help us?” Rowan asked, her mind spinning. “You’re just going to leave us here?”
“This is not our battle. We cannot win it,” Mama Tetri said, leveling her gaze at Rowan. “But there is a faint possibility that you might be able to do so. This connection you have with Fiona. See what that brings. You are connected to her, and she is connected to the beast. And therein lies your hope. Perhaps there is some way to use this connection to your advantage.”
“You’re both crazy,” Jude spoke, fury charging his words. “You’re telling us that you won’t stay and help us, but that Rowan should risk her life?”
Mama Lune nodded. “I cannot make you understand the ways of the witches. Forgive me, child.”
Jude shook his head. “That’s all we get?”
“That’s all you get,” she said, pity in her eyes, and for a moment, Rowan felt certain that Jude was going to scream, but clenching his jaw, he turned and strode over to Rowan.
“Let’s go,” he said. “I’m sorry I brought you here.”
Mama Tetri reached out to take Rowan’s hands, but she backed away from the witch and walked out the front door with Jude.
Once outside, Rowan turned toward Jude, and he winced, pain written across his face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what we’re going to do.”
“It’s not your fault, Jude,” she said, upset to see him so hurt, wanting to soothe him somehow.
“I trusted them. I thought they would help us. I thought they would help you,” he said, looking at her with desperate eyes.
And that was when they heard a man’s scream—sharp
and otherworldly. They froze there, staring at one another, the same thought pulsing through them both—Tom. Without another word, they raced through the trees, back toward the village, toward the scream.
As soon as they saw the body, Rowan knew it wasn’t Tom, but the sight was so horrific that she was overcome. There in the snow, his rifle beside him on the ground, Goi Tate lay splayed out, his chest a bloody cavern.
Some distance through the woods, Rowan heard movement—the snapping of branches, the crushing of snow.
Jude took her hand. “We have to go. Before it comes back. We have to get inside the village barrier.”
O
UT IN THE
woods, Fiona kissed Tom between his eyes. He sighed and cocked his head.
“I think I’m changing,” Tom said, but she only laughed. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”
“I know who you are,” Fiona said, smiling. “And I think you’re wonderful.”
“This anger, this violence inside me,” he said. “It grows stronger every day. I fear it will consume me.” Gazing at the coin she wore around her neck, he remembered Jude’s words. The elders had seen an evil in their house, and Tom knew they were right to have seen it, but the evil hadn’t emanated from a person. It was the coin that they’d
sensed. He took a step toward Fiona. “It comes from there. It draws me to it. I need it to stop. Please, Fiona, make it stop.”
Fiona’s face grew serious, and grasping the coin around her neck, she took a step away from him as if to shield it. “What would you have me do?”
He looked at the coin and then back to her face. “It makes me sick. It turns me inside out and makes me crave things—things that frighten me.”
“What things?” she asked, her expression curious.
“Violence. Blood. I nearly killed my brother today. I stood over him, ready to plunge a knife into his heart, and I don’t know why. It was as if there was no other choice. And I know it was that—that thing. It drives me to do things. Please, Fiona.”
She shook her head, insistent. “There’s nothing I can do about it.”
“Yes, there is,” he pleaded, moving to touch her. But just as he stepped toward her, she stepped away. “Get rid of it. Destroy it.”
“You would have me destroy it?” she asked, shocked. “But I need it. I cannot live without it.”
“Of course you can. Please understand, that coin, it will drive me to do things I will regret. Since the moment I found it, things have gone wrong. Up on that mountain, when I found it buried in the snow, somehow I knew. I just knew, but I took it anyway. Even when I forgot about it, when I packed my heavy coat away in the attic, the coin in the pocket, I believe I still felt it calling to me even then. And
then, when I put it around your neck, everything changed. Don’t you see? It was as if the world turned sour after that. If I hadn’t found it, if I hadn’t given it to you, maybe everything would be okay right now. Maybe it still could be. I am begging you to destroy it.”